


A Gentler Touch

by ArchimedesBlue (Simirulz204)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Psychological Torture, Sexual Violence, Slavery, Teenagers, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simirulz204/pseuds/ArchimedesBlue
Summary: Set in the land of Tevinter, the Imperium covets it's slaves and their way of life. As the world becomes ever more darker and twisted for Hawke, she finds a sliver lining in Fenris as they meet as teenagers and fall in love. But everything is not as easy as it seems and forces both magic and political will either tear them apart or unite them against their enemies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So....I did a thing. A dark, cruel twisted story with a happy ending popped into my mind. Trigger warnings throughout this entire fic for attempted sexual assault/rape, torture, verbal and physical abuse and violence all sprinkled with a light coating of romance and realism on top. Completely AU of course so don't go expecting Canon characters. If so - click back now. Other wise....enjoy! As always... i live for comments and kudos. Gives me encouragement and inspiration to keep writing!!

********************  
‘’Archon, please! You cannot do this! Please.’’

  
Malcolm begged pitifully on his knees as his daughter clung to him, her sobbing loud enough in the crook of his neck to nearly deafen him.

‘’You made a deal with me Malcolm Hawke. You promised me you would do anything I asked, if only I would help you seal him away and in doing so save your family.’’

The red hooded figure bowed his head, the shadows upon his serious face falling heavy as his robes fluttered around his bare feet. He circled them menacingly, his presence dominating the room.

‘’You cannot have her. I cannot let you take her. She is my child! Please, have pity on my daughter. Take me instead!’’

His pleading falls on deaf ears and Malcolm watches with dread as the Archon shakes his head side to side. With an inconsequential flick of his wrist - his daughter was ripped from his arms by the two guards he had not seen lurking behind him.

‘’Give her back!’’ He screams; the magic around his body thrumming as he lifts his staff in preparation to do battle.

‘’You are willing to renege on your agreement with me? Shall I undo the seal of power and watch from the side-lines as your family gets slaughtered like no good slaves? You have other children, Malcolm. Give this one to me.’’

In all his years, despite all his extensive knowledge and power, he has never felt this helpless. A wail leaves his throat as he watches and listens to his daughter scream for his help, her tiny form wriggling and swatting pathetically at the armoured chests that held her tightly and with force.

Spells of old, littered with the words of bloody magic pass through his mind as he desperately seeks a way to save his little girl, but he knows that he would be cut down in an instant by the powerful magister.

He drops once again to his knees and hangs his head in defeat as his magic slowly ebbs out of him in angry pulses. He has two other children and a wife that need his protection.  
It breaks his heart but he has no choice. The Archon’s influence and power stretches throughout the world of Thedas and there was nowhere he could not reach, nowhere he and his family could hide or have any semblance of life if he did not do this.

‘’Let me say goodbye.’’ his voice is thick with unshed tears and sorrow; the Archon nods and the red faced shrieking child runs towards him arms outstretched.

She is only five years of age but her cerulean blue eyes now carry scars and trauma that he would have never, ever wished upon her. Framing her face with his hands, his bloodied thumbs leaving a smear across her nose as he wipes at the wetness on her face; he clears his throat and smiles at her as his own tears begin to drop.

‘’Papa loves you. Papa loves you, Delilah. You are beautiful. You are kind. You are strong and you will do things in this world that everyone will speak about, long after we are all gone.’’

He crumbles a bit further as he sees her lower lip tremble. He knows she is more intelligent than her age and knows when she starts to comprehend that this is goodbye.

‘’I love you, my flower. Never forget it. No matter what people call you, or make you do, or d-do to you. I need you to remember that you are a good person, a strong person and I love you. Okay?’’

He whispers and she nods – her crying has ceased. She stands still except for the shaking of her tiny scrunched up fists. He throws his arms around her, hugging her tightly to his aching chest.

‘’Tell me who you are.’’ He asks quietly of her. ‘’Tell me, Daughter.’’

‘’I am Delilah Hawke.’’ A tiny defeated voice floats into his ear.

‘’Don’t ever forget that. Ever.’’

‘’Enough of this.’’ The Archons men drag her backward by the scruff of her collar, her tiny bare feet stumbling as she reaches out silently towards her papa before letting her arm fall limply to her side.

The Archon follows behind them as she is dragged from the room and out of his sight; the door slams and he is left in darkness as his guilt slowly devours him  
from the inside out.

****************  
12 years later  
******************

‘’Slave! Come here!’’ a shrill, spoiled and snobbish voice echoes around the garden and Hawke snaps her head up in shock as a bucket of water is dumped over her head. Hawke hangs her head, the leather collar digging uncomfortably into the divot in her throat as she leans back to kneel on her heels in the customary submissive pose.

‘’Look at the state of this place! I have an extravagant party planned for this evening and NOTHING is being done to my standards.’’ Sabina squeals before kicking away the scrubbing brush Hawke had placed neatly in front of her.

‘’I apologize Mistress. I will do better Mistress.’’ Hawke says firmly, making sure to fill her voice with the level of respect owed to her mistress.

‘’See that you do! I want my garden adorned with the most beautiful wild flowers and lanterns before lunch this afternoon, the paving stones need to gleam with the moonlight tonight. Understood?’’

‘’Yes Mistress, apologies Mistress.’’ The woman looks down at Hawke and sneers in disgust. ‘’And for Makers sake, see that you are well presented before tonight. My uncle the Archon will be attending my name day party and I will not be embarrassed by any of my slaves tonight!’’

She leaves with a flourish and Hawke breathes out a small sigh of relief as she watches her mistress disappear into the mansion.

‘’She’s a mean-spirited waif that one.’’ Hawke hears from behind her and see Tomas the gardener approach her with her scrubbing brush and full bucket of soapy water in hand.

‘’Hush Tomas!’’ she whispers as she takes the tools from his hands and wipes at her sopping wet hair with the ragged sleeve of her tunic.

‘’She cannae hear us, flower.’’ He sucks air through his teeth as he looks at the lavish garden around them. Hawke espies some pride in those shoulders at all his hard work and stifles a small chuckle when she sees a small smile form on his lips.

‘’We are fortunate to have the mistress that we have.’’ Hawke settles down on her hands and knees and resumes her scrubbing of the paving stones that travel in a circular route around the garden.

‘’You know very well there are others who have it worse. Mean-spirited she may be but she has never taken to torturing or maiming those of us who disobey. A few lashings perhaps or some unkind words or pranks and that is the end of the matter.’’ Tomas nods in agreement and bends down on his haunches as he inspects the dragonfire lilies planted to their right.

‘’Aye, lass. We are indeed fortunate, but that don’t mean that what is done to us is right or fair either.’’ His voice is low and travels softly to her ears before a calloused but warm hand lands on her shoulder.

‘’I will hear no more of your rebellious words, Tomas. I love you like family but I will not get involved in something that will have farther reaching repercussions than you realize.’’ She shrugs him off in dismissal and soaks her brush in the icy bucket.

‘’As you say, flower. If you be needing me, I’ll be tending to the front lawn. Need the carriageway entrance to sparkle… apparently. I ain't no mage, so Maker knows how I will manage that.’’ He rubs a tired hand over his face and waves a small goodbye before disappearing.

His long grey hair bounces as he walks, elven ears sharp and pointed despite his age and Hawke takes a moment to worry for the man and his hopeless dreams.

Hawke sighs in weariness as the muscles in her back cramp and cause her pain. The water she was doused in falls to the floor in front of her in droplets and she brushes at her hair again with her sleeve.

She was seventeen years old and it felt like she had been alive for at least a hundred.

She catches sight of her distorted reflection in the water and raises a brow. Not one to ever be vain but as her mistresses personal slave - she took what pride she could in keeping her appearance immaculate.

Now her hair clung wetly to her forehead, her eyes were dull and the darkness that clung beneath them seemed to make her appear older than her mere seventeen years.

She looked down at her hands and grimaces as she sees the callouses – yellowing and soft from the water and years of toil. Her fingernails are blessedly free from dirt but she recalls with wistfulness the colours painted on her mistresses nails and longs for the chance to see her hands look as elegant and well-groomed.

The hours drag on and Hawke and the rest of the slaves prepare the mansion for the soiree of a lifetime – _as their mistress declares it will be_ \- by leaving no cushion or bed-sheet or carpet unwashed or unbrushed.

The marble floors inside sparkle from polish, the walls giving off soft rose scents as one passes and the drapery hangs magnificently down from the overly long and high intricately carved windows.

Today is her Mistress’s name day. She is twenty five years of age and has never seen or experienced any more hardship than a broken nail or perhaps the contrite apologies of a vendor explaining that the item she sought was no longer in stock.

Hawke watched as Mistress Sabine flounced up and down the corridor - in her absurdly tight, golden dragon-scaled gown that snagged on every carpet she swept over. In her haste to finalize the night’s preparation, Hawke finds herself putting a hand behind her mistresses back just in case she should lose her footing and fall.

Mistress Sabines’ bosom jiggles with every foot stomp, her hair adornments wobbling precariously with every exaggerated tilt back of her head in aggravation and all Hawke could do was wish she could one day get the chance to wear a gown of finery.

Hawke had dressed herself in the customary clothes of slaves that would be attending the guests. The black garish robe that covered her from below the chin to her toes hung heavily and uncomfortably warm on her skin; but Hawke knew her mistress did not appreciate competition and would punish female slaves if they enticed or attracted more attention than her.

She brought her hand to her collar and wedged it further from her throat with her thumb as she took a deep calming breath. Tonight all the slaves, even those accompanying their masters to this party, would internally shiver with fear at every word spoken or every look sent their way.

To drop a glass, or to spill the wine was in other households, enough to earn one a swift and severe beating. In extreme circumstances perhaps even death if the embarrassment was endured by someone of great standing in the Imperium.

‘’Hawke! Slave! Come here.’’ Hawke makes her way quickly over to her mistress and stands to attention with her hands clasped before her.

‘’How do I look?’’ she questions and one would be a fool to not answer correctly.

‘’Resplendent. You shine more beautifully than the sun and sky combined Mistress.’’

Hawke feels her face being slapped playfully, once, twice and flinches at the third as it impacts a little harder.

‘’Remember your place tonight. I have watched you grow since you arrived here. For a slave one could say you are easy on the eye and surely there must be one man in this world who would debase himself enough to try and lie with you. ‘’ Hawke blinks stupidly but is wise enough to keep her mouth shut.

‘’Good. You are no longer a child but you will always be my property. Do as you are told tonight and I will see you and your kind well rewarded with food and drink.’’ Sabine pulls the hood on Hawkes robes forward with a swift tug, tucking away her hair and patted her atop the head, pulling the hood down low over Hawkes forehead.

‘’Yes, Mistress Sabine.’’ Hawke turns to leave but a strong grasp on her arm spins her back around and she gasps as she feels the biting of nails through her robes.

‘’Magister Danarius will be joining us tonight. He is bringing that elven boy with him. You are to see that both the Magister and that slave are given the best of care and that their needs are met tonight. Do anything they ask. Do you understand?’’

Hawke swallowed the bubble of fear that threatened to choke her and averts her eyes as she agrees with her Mistresses demands.

She has heard of Magister Danarius. A twisted, cruel abhorrent mage who delights in torture and displays of power. A cunning and shrewd man who always saw an opportunity to best his enemies and sometimes even his friends.

She has heard little but enough of how his slaves are treated and she is suddenly filled with relief that her mistress is the way she is and who she is. She has never set eyes on Danarius or his slave bodyguard but she has heard that he is fearsome and certainly not be trifled with.

The elf was in training for the grand arena where the Magisters would battle their slaves against each other in a gruesome display of influence and power. The memory of her last attendance to such a display still haunted her. The dismembered human limbs scattered around the sand pit, the crowds cheering with glee.

  
She is snapped out of her reverie as the announcement of the first guest booms through the foyer. For a time, Hawke simply lets the names wash over and through her, paying attention but not forgetting the task given her to by Sabine.

‘’The esteemed Magister Danarius, second cousin of Lysiscus Dumont, Leader of the Northern Circle!’’

Hawke stands on her tip-toes to get a better look at her task for the night and gasps as she sees him enter with an elf on a long, black embroidered leash attached to a tight silver collar.

The people swarm to the slave, hands rubbing at his arms, his hair, any place they could reach and Hawke cannot imagine the indignity and shame he feels at being petted like a Fereldan dog.

The crowd disperses with a wave from Danarius and Sabine practically floats down the stairs to land in a low curtsy in front of him, her eyelashes blinking preposterously as she swoons in front of the goateed tormentor. Sabine's attention now elsewhere gives Hawke the chance to study his slave more clearly and without fear of being noticed or overly intrigued. Hawke brings a hand to her heart; its beating increasing tenfold as she looked down upon the silver haired Elf.

The slaves face was beautifully sculpted, the lines of his chin and cheekbones graceful and strong. Hawkes eyes lingered on his mouth as the shape of his lips moved with words she could not yet hear. The elf must have noticed her gawking for she caught his gaze and marvelled at the green that lay beneath thick lashes and heavy, dark brows. He quickly averts his gaze and returns them to the ground, his expression now once again devoid of any emotion, but a flush of colour high on his cheekbones reveals that their momentary eye contact has left him flustered.

He was truly the most breath-taking, beautiful boy she had ever seen. He could be no more than eighteen years of age but his body was strong, sculpted, tanned with the Tevinter sun and despite his status as slave he carried himself with a small measure of pride. A smile threatened to grace her face but she quickly schooled her expression to mask her inner giddiness at this small moment they had shared.

She found herself slowly descending the staircase, tray in hand, glasses rattling as she continues to study him. Reaching her Mistress she stops three feet from her and the woman stretches back an arm to grab a glass of wine for her guest.

‘’Magister Danarius, you honour me with your attendance.’’

‘’It is only a pleasure to attend, Mistress Sabine. You are notorious for throwing the most entertaining parties and I would not miss this for all the gold in Tevinter.’’ The magisters' chuckle is deep and Hawke flinched as he tugged playfully at the Elf’s leash, the poor boys head jerking left and right.

‘’Have you met my Little Wolf?’’ Danarius asks as he pulls the Elf forward. ‘’This is Fenris, my bodyguard, champion and most highly valued of all my slaves.’’

‘’Oh, Magister. He is an utter delight to look upon.’’ Sabine lifts a hand and cups Fenris’ chin; lifting his head and turning it this way and that to inspect him more closely. ‘’A fine specimen, Magister. You have done well. Naturally.’’

‘’He is not nearly as lovely as you Milady.’’ He grabs her hand from Fenris’ face and bestows a quick kiss on it.

  
Hawke is hard pushed to control the revulsion she feels watching and listening to them both compliment and deceive one another and chooses to turn her attention to the boy instead who is steadfastly and almost obviously so - pretending that he doesn’t notice her staring.

Having spent an hour trailing behind her Mistress as the Magister talked animatedly about the next fight to be scheduled in the Capital, Hawke frowned as she noticed Fenris doing his best to avoid all the hands and lustful looks that seemed to dog his every step.

  
She quickly closed the gap between herself and the boy and the next hand that reached out to grab at him met with her shoulder instead. She was willing to risk a small beating if only to spare him a moment of indignity. Whether he would notice this small act of kindness was irrelevant Hawke decided as she could still recall to this day her fathers parting words. She would always strive to be a good person.

Mistress Sabine shrieks often with excitement at spotting someone new and Hawke could do nothing but follow them blindly as introductions after introductions were made and secret words were whispered in warning and welcome.

Hawke once again sees an unwelcome hand reach towards the boy and pretends to stumble forward, colliding a bit harder into Fenris’ back than she had intended with a whimper upon impact. He turns his head quickly to face her and to no doubt apologise profusely to some lofty Magister but she sees the anger brimming there in his green-eyed glare when he realises who it is. Just her. _Just a slave_.

She mouths an apology and his eyes widened for a fraction of a moment before he turned back around. Mistress Sabine snaps her fingers and she quickly returns to the woman’s side.

‘’My dear Danarius, I must leave you for the moment but should you need anything - _anything_ \- my slave here is to see to your every desire.’’ Hawke feels her arm being pulled forward and bites down on a small squeak of surprise. She automatically bows her head as she is presented to Danarius but startles as a strong, rough hand pulls her hood back, releasing her curled up black hair and letting it tumble down to her waist.

‘’Anything, you say?’’ she recoils in disgust as a thumb is lightly stroked over her bottom lip but her mistress places a steady hand on her shoulder keeping her in place when she tries to back away. The Magister is close enough that she can feel his hot musty breath on her face, the sickly sweet smell of his skin. Fenris’ shoulders tighten and tense up as she glances over to his direction, seeing an expression of shared disgust and pity.

‘’Within reason of course, dear Magister. I acquired this slave at the tender age of five and it has become most valuable to me, much like your Little Wolf I would expect.’’ Her Mistress curtsy’s once more and gives Hawke a look – she understands it even if she does not like it.

‘’I am at your service, Magister. Fenris.’’

The elf pales at hearing this and the Magister laughs, bowing farewell to her Mistress.

Hawke is alone.

She risked a glance at Fenris once more and she sees him shake his head, a small insignificant movement to most but to Hawke it spoke volumes of the precarious situation she was now in.

‘’Come, I wish to rest my legs, it has been a tiresome journey. Slave, show me the way to your parlor, I wish to sit somewhere moderately private.’’

Alarm runs through her veins at his request but she leads them to the staircase in the corner and for all the world, she could not have predicted what would happen next; her feet caught the robe of another Magister walking by her, his glass of blood red wine flew through the air, soaking Danarius and his pretty white robes.

Silence fell on the room at large until Hawke whimpered.

The room at large gasped with shock and immediately rushed to his aid. The magister is bombarded with offers of handkerchiefs and cleaning spells and even offers to punish Hawke on his behalf for her foolishness. Fenris stands as still as the marble pillars that outline the grand hallway, expression grim, back ramrod stiff and Hawke takes a step back out of fear.

She can feel her heartbeat in her ears, the air tight and stifling in her throat and Fenris’ grim expression turns to dire as he hears his Master laugh and brushes away the numerous offers with a nonchalant air of arrogance. He turns to her and her heart stills. Danarius' deep black eyes were filled with rage despite the smile on his face.

‘’Slave, lead the way.’’

The words hit her ears as sharply as if though she had been struck and she has no chance to beg for forgiveness or offer apologies before she feels a rough hand squeeze and hold on tightly to her elbow.

‘’I will have to think of something special to repay you for this, yes, something special indeed.’’ The words are whispered into her ears and tears threaten to form behind her lashes as his grip increases in its intensity.

_It hurts._

She is frightened and Fenris will not meet her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers - sexual assault

The thunderous noise of her heartbeat in her ears deafens her, the strong and painful grip on her arm forcing moisture to pool in the corners of her eyes but she walks stiffly forward regardless. 

She cannot turn and say stop, she dare not let him know that he is causing her pain, she has no right to speak until spoken to but she burns with the wish to do so. To scream at him to unhand her and go back to the void from where he came. 

A swell of fear bubbles from the pit of her stomach and pounds inside her chest when she is ushered into a private room in the west wing. The curtains are drawn and not a glimmer of light can be seen. She is thrown to the floor, her hands impacting hard with a slap against the marble. Danarius utters a few words and fire leaps from his fingertips into the hearth, illuminating the room in an eerie red glow. Fenris steps in behind them and closes the door before Danarius could command it and he is rewarded with a nod.

The hustle and bustle and shrieks of laughter from the party downstairs fades to whispers that float up through the cracks in the wooden walls, a dull vibration, indiscernible but haunting. 

The shadows dance across his face, a small smile hanging off the corner of his lips and she cowers ever so slightly when he takes a step towards her. 

‘’Now, what to do with you?’’ He hums to himself, forefinger and thumb scratching at his beard before he starts to circle her.

‘’Lashings? No, no … don’t want to leave any visible marks. I am after all a guest in this house and I have plans here … but I can’t let this go unpunished either."

He bends down towards her – hand menacingly outstretched and Hawke shrinks back automatically, her once cerulean blue eyes almost black with fear. 

She gasps as he grabs hold of her collar, the leather at the back of her neck biting sharply into her skin. ‘’Ah, yes. Quite beautiful.’’ His perfectly manicured finger rubs down her cheek. ‘’I can see now why Sabine makes her slaves wear such gaudy robes.’’ 

Hawke has a moment to draw a deep breath before an electric current from his finger sets her eyes rolling into the back of her head, her teeth clenched tightly, lips straining as they part in agony over them. She is dimly aware that her fingers are splayed wide, nails scratching into the marble floor as she convulses and seizes over and over again. 

Her mind is on fire, her body burns, her hair begins to stand on edge and a small sizzle with a slight pop is heard in her ear before he releases her. She falls to the ground with a thud, eyes closed and mouth still pulling tight as the lightning courses through her.

‘’Oh how I love magic! So many inventive ways to torture… or to please. Depends on the occasion.’’ 

Danarius laughs, a HA! that is overly loud in the dark and quiet room and she can do nothing but continue to lie on the floor, her limbs wracked with the phantom pains of lightning in her veins, the twitch of her fingers are accompanied by the sucking sounds of her desperately gasping for breath. 

‘’Fenris, do you remember when you first joined me?’’ Danarius drawls as he saunters over to his slave, a hand lovingly cupping the elf’s chin.

‘’Yes, Master.’’ Fenris voice is quiet, calm and Hawke turns her head in his direction, despite her eyes still feeling as though they had been fused shut with magic. 

‘’I can’t believe I only acquired you for half a tesserae! And just look at you now. Loyal, obedient, you would do anything I ask of you wouldn’t you my Little Wolf?’’

Danarius whispers into the Elf’s ears and Hawke cannot discern what is being said but she trembles as she opens her eyes and meets his green ones staring back at her. He is cold and disinterested and when she mouths a silent plea for him to help, he looks away from her to stare blankly ahead.

He would not help her. The first tear falls, running down and over the bridge of her nose as she continues to stare up at her captor and tormentor. 

‘’I trained Fenris like this you know.’’ Danarius turns back towards her with a full blown smile, a hand waving over her. ‘’In the beginning he rebelled constantly. Always muttering about how he would win his freedom in the arena, he would live happily with his family once he had paid the price that they are worth to their current masters. Oh, what fun it was to discipline such an unruly dog.’’ 

He slaps Fenris hard across the face, the boys head jerking roughly to the side, a trickle of blood spilling from his lip. ‘’You see, he makes no move against me. He cannot. He is mine and he knows it.’’

‘’Get up!’’ Denarius commands and Hawke tries to obey, tries to summon the strength to stand but the electricity which had been forced through her had drained her of all her stamina.

‘’Get up! Or would you like me to punish Fenris in your place instead, hmm?’’ 

Hawke is ashamed to admit that she considers his offer; for a moment anything would be better than more pain. She moves her head side to side slowly and with great care manages to stumble and kneel awkwardly. Her chest is still tight, her lungs still burn but she would and could not let someone else take her punishment when it was she who had so foolishly erred. 

A single misstep. Oh, how cruel the Maker was!

A small whimper escapes her as she is pulled roughly to her feet. A hot breath blows on the back of her neck, the hairs there standing to attention.

The clasp with which she tied her robes at the front was being undone, the first soft brush of her own hair against her skin makes her shiver; her skin coming to life with goose bumps of revulsion.

She hears the distant sound of fabric ripping, her body being jostled by his movements and the sudden cold brush of air against her bare shoulders.

She looks down to see her robes fluttering to the ground, pooling at her feet with a soft thud. She is disturbed to see how the shadows from the fire jump and lick across her barely dressed frame. 

Hawkes smallclothes - harsh over-washed fabric- was covering her breasts and womanhood, tied with a single pin on each side and she could feel the eyes of the Magister from behind her bore into her skin. She shut her eyes in embarrassment and shame as Fenris looked at her, one second, two seconds, by the third he looked away.

Hawke clamps down on a scream as a hand glides down her arm, her breath coming in quick bursts; her panic reducing her to nothing but irrational thoughts and urges to flee. She wants to run, to defend herself from something she had heard happening in other Magisters houses …but never in hers. It was a new craze, to lay with one servants. To use them for nothing but pleasures of the flesh. The bond of matrimony was considered untainted as long as physical intimacy was had with a slave and not someone of higher standing. 

She has never been touched intimately and while the other slave girls would dabble in their illicit affairs and drink a strange smelling tea once a month, Hawke had never been inclined to join them in their night-time adventures to the male slaves’ quarters. The cobbled dark alleyways where encounters were had with the threat of death hanging above ones head if you were caught in the act seemed to entice them and spur them on and Hawke would call them foolish repeatedly.

‘’What is your name, Slave?’’ Danarius places a kiss on the top of her bare shoulder. She jerks away from him but he holds tightly onto the collar around her neck from the back, pulling her body flush against his chest.

‘’What is your name, Slave?’’

The collar is tight, her windpipe slowly being crushed but she manages to croak out her answer. ‘’Hawke!’’ 

‘’Wrong!’’ a magical fist smacks into the base of her spine and she crumbles to her knees. He stands before her, his hands rummaging for the opening in his wine-stained white robes near his crotch. 

‘’Do you want to know what your name is? Hmm? It is slave! You are nothing but a slave. You have no identity. No hopes or dreams or ambitions.’’ Denarius right hand shoots out to grab her chin, fingers gripping her jaw hard enough so that she opens her mouth in shock. 

‘’Now be a good little Slave. Serve me.’’

With the left hand he reaches inside his robes; Hawkes fear and disgust and shame all war and battle within in her but she is powerless to do anything about the fact that he has removed his member from his small clothes and was steadily moving his body nearer and nearer to her.

‘’Magister!’’ Hawkes eyes snap open, tears begin streaming down her face as her Mistress’ voice floats through the door that had been roughly slammed open. The noise of the party downstairs returns with full force into the room and Hawke spares a moment to thank the Maker for her Mistress’ arrival. 

Danarius tilts his head back and gives a frustrated sigh. Hawke is sobbing openly now, the fear and revulsion overcoming her and she reaches a hand out towards her mistress, who arches a brow and walks towards them calmly. 

‘’Magister – Had I known you were in the mood for a more frivolous and satisfying evening, you would find that I would be more than happy to accommodate your needs. Not to mention a willing participant.’’ She giggles and Hawke takes the opportunity to slowly crawl away as the Magister turns to face Sabine, member still in hand.

‘’You? Why, Sabine… I did not think that you were of a mind to ever entertain me in the ways of pleasure.’’ Danarius voice drips with suave flirtation and the sound makes Hawke gag as she finally reaches the door. 

‘’Why don’t we send the slaves to guard the door outside and you and I can discuss the finer ‘’ she looks down at his member and smiles ‘’points of pleasure.’’ She takes hold of him and Hawke is sickened by the gasp and rumble of amusement he lets out.

‘’Fenris, take the slave and get out. Stay outside the door.’’

Hawke feels a warm, gentle touch on her shoulder and when she looks up she sees the concerned look on elf’s face, the pupils of his green eyes focused on her as he extends his hand. She takes it cautiously, her small hands dwarfed by his rough larger ones. She expects to be yanked to her feet but he merely pulls gently until she rights herself, her balance severely affected by tonight’s events.

‘’Let us be away.’’ His voice is deep, a pleasant rasp beneath each word and she clings to the sound and the warmth of his hand as he steers her through the doorway, shutting it behind him. The last thing she sees is the Magister roughly disrobing her Mistress. 

There is a small settee in the corner of the hallway outside the parlour; Fenris leads her to it before bending down on one knee and staring up at her before frowning. She watches him remove a light blue handkerchief from beneath his chest plate of black leather armour and Hawke does not know why but she is not afraid of him as he dabs at the sweat on her forehead.

‘’You are bleeding.’’ He announces quietly and reaches up to wipe away the blood that had trickled from her ear. ‘’Your eardrum must have taken damage.’’ 

She looks away as his face moves closer to inspect her superficial wound and her body begins to shake as she fights back another wave of tears and nausea, her adrenaline thick and roiling in her stomach.

‘’So are you.’’ She indicates to the dried blood on his chin and he sucks at his bottom lip with furrowed brows. The lull of conversation is halted while he tends to her but as he moves to touch her face to check the other ear she pulls back – still feeling the pain of Danarius’ grip. 

‘’I am not monster.’’ Fenris utters softly - a note of apology in his voice. ‘’I am a slave. I cannot help you or defend you while in my master’s presence.’’

He states it simply. It is the way it is. Hawke understands. They are slaves, meant to serve, and meant to be silent, seen but not heard, only allowed to speak when spoken to. She nods once to let him know and the tenseness in his shoulder marginally dissipates. 

‘’Your master is a monster.’’ She meets his eyes as his head snaps up, he quickly looks to the left then the right before sighing. 

‘’Of this I am aware but I would not voice it so loudly nor so close to his position. The walls have ears Hawke and their whispers will be your undoing.’’ He says this so quietly she has to lean forward to catch every word. 

‘’Would you permit me to sit next to you?’’ She shuffles over to the far end of the settee and he takes a seat beside her. Hawke blushes - conscious of the fact that she is in her small clothes in the middle of the hallway in a mansion where one of the most prestigious events of the year was taking place. She crosses her arms and brings her legs up, bare feet on the cushions to try and protect her modesty. 

‘’Fenris... would he have… would I have been….’’ She struggles to finish the sentence, the word she was looking for having never left her lips before.

‘’Raped?’’ Fenris says gently and her lower lip trembles lightly as she nods. ‘’Yes. You are fortunate your Mistress intervened. He is not … gentle.’’ With this he looks away and Hawke comes to the realisation that Fenris never had someone to save him from his first experience with Danarius. 

‘’I apolog- ‘’ he clicks his tongue, irritated - he ruffles his hair with his right hand, a fist forming as he smacks it lightly against his knee. 

‘’You do not need to apologise to me for something that was beyond your control. I survived it.’’ His words are stern and haunted as he looks away from her, his surprise at sharing something so intimate yet horrifying with a stranger evident by the wide eyed look on his face. 

Hawke summons up the last vestiges of her courage and reaches for his hand. 

He bristles at the first touch but when she makes no move to intertwine their fingers, he looks down, perplexed by her touch, his expression something akin to confusion. 

The clasp of warmth against warmth, palm against palm shimmers between them and when she moves to pull away he holds on even tighter.

‘’I am unaccustomed to being touched without either pain or humiliation following soon after. Forgive me.’’ He pleads softly and Hawke gives him a watery smile.

She had been through much tonight but as she held Fenris’ hand, the cuts and scars and callouses so closely matching her own, she took comfort in the small touch, in knowing that he had also suffered – perhaps even more so than she - but that he understood her feelings and shared them. 

The hubbub of the guest’s downstairs ebbs and flows up the staircase, intensifying and receding as the hour progressed. Hawke shivers from the cold in her state of undress and surreptitiously moves closer to the elf at her side, attempting to seek and absorb the heat that he was letting off from his unmarked tanned skin. 

If he is uncomfortable by her close proximity he does not show it and when she angles her face upwards to seek out his expression he turns his face away but presses his leg closer against her curled up form. 

‘’I do not expect they will be in there for long.’’ He gives her a wry and knowing smirk but she frowns not understanding his joke. 

‘’You really are an innocent fool.’’ Hawkes hackles rise as he laughs at her but she is not so young and dim-witted to realise that he is attempting to make her laugh, to ease some of the stress of the evening, so she forces her indignation to the side and offers him up a semblance of a smile. 

‘’Magister Danarius said that he had plans…. plans for my Mistress perhaps?’’ she stutters out and Fenris hums in acknowledgement of her question. 

‘’I cannot disclose what they are. For both our sakes it is better that you do not know.’’

‘’Is my Mistress in danger? She is not an evil person, Fenris. I have never known hunger or torture whilst serving her. I do not wish any harm to befall her because I fear what kind of master I will have after she is gone.’’ 

Fenris frowns and angles his body away from her and the cold nips at her skin that he has just exposed by moving. ‘’How long have you been indentured?’’ 

‘’I came into Mistress Sabine home at age five. I do not remember much of what came before that except for my father’s face and the Archon’s as he led me away.’’

‘’The Archon himself took you?’’ astonishment and confusion laced his voice. ‘’Are you a mage?’’ he asks hesitantly and she is shocked to see that he is prepared to remove himself from her company if the answer was anything other than no. 

‘’I am not a mage, Fenris. From what little I have discovered, my father was - but it seems to have skipped me. I am nothing more than a maid and Mistress Sabine’s personal servant.’’ 

‘’I see. Despite it all… you are very brave Hawke. Not even once did you beg for his mercy or plead for your life. I have seen men foul themselves after a bout of torture but your resolve is astonishing.’’

Hawkes eyes fill with tears but she takes a deep breath and mumbles a thank you, a lopsided shy smile on her face. He chuckles and tilts his head to the side, a pointed ear curved towards the door and his earlier smile begins to falter. 

‘’Can you hear them?’’ 

‘’Sadly, yes. Elves have exceptional hearing.’’

‘’I know. Tomas – our groundskeeper – he is an elf and he tells me the most wonderful tales. He hears everything he’s not supposed to and unfortunately he chooses me to share all the details with.’’

‘’That sounds… dangerous.’’ Fenris hums and quickly rises to his feet causing Hawke to slip to the side and stick a hand out to stop herself from falling off the settee.

‘’Get on your knees. Quickly.’’ He whispers urgently and she does so with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

The door opens and her mistress’ giggle wafts out of the room, Danarius arm around her waist, his nose in her neck. Hawke’s lungs seize as they walk towards her. She bites her bottom lip and closes her eyes, expecting the worse, the sting of a slap, a blade of harsh words aimed at her body. 

The strangest thing happens and when she opens her eyes, the two Magisters have completely ignored and walked past her without even a moment’s consideration. She does not know whether to be eternally grateful that she has avoided any further punishment or angry that she has just suffered through an ordeal that neither of them consider to be important or wrong. 

A flick of Danarius’ wrist and Fenris is walking two steps behind him, cold and dispassionate once more, leaving her alone on the ground. Hawke stares after them, her knees pressing hard into the floor and she scrambles after them before realising she is not dressed.

She quickly makes her way back to the room in which she wished she never had to set foot in again and gathers her torn black robes, assembling the pieces as quickly as possible in an acceptable style. Her hood has been shredded and her hair hangs loose and wild around her face.

She follows down after them, her face flushed, her heart pounding as she spots the trio making their way towards the Archon who had arrived with such suddenness and so silently that she came to a full stop at the bottom of the stairs. 

Sabine curtsied low and Danarius followed suit. Fenris had sunk to his knees and all slaves and Masters fell to their respective submissive poses and it was sickening to see the look of self-importance twinkle in the Archon’s eyes.

For the tenth time that day her sore and scraped knees hit the ground and she hated every moment of it. She hated the Archon, she hated her life. 

A spark ignited in her chest. 

A fluttering of rage and indignation as she kneeled to the leader of a country who allowed rape and frivolity to go hand in hand. Who allowed children to be ripped from their families loving arms, who allowed slavery and torture? 

She dared to cast her eyes towards the Archon – his features older and wearier than she remembered but he glowed with the magic that coursed through him. It seemed to seep from every pore on his wrinkled form and all the other Magisters in the room purred with delight as he gave off a faint glow, ushering them all to stand. 

‘’My children.’’ The Archon boomed despite his frail appearance. ‘’My niece has just informed me of some delightful news.’’ The guests fall silent, the tinkle of glasses being chinked together suddenly gone, the collective breath of the guests being held as they waited anxiously for the announcement a sudden physical presence in the room. 

Mistress Sabine giggled and cooed at her companion.

‘’Magister Danarius and Lady Sabine dè Claremont have announced their intention to marry! To join their houses and their magical bloodlines. These two will bring Tevinter glory and riches untold in their union and they have my blessing.’’

The Archon stoops to kiss his niece once on each cheek as a round of applause and cheers erupts from the guests. Well-wishers and kisses and embraces of grandeur and exaggeration becoming the theme of the night. The swell of the noise making the tables rattle as their jubilation echoed around the grand hall. 

Danarius kisses Sabine and Hawkes world slowly started to crumble around her. 

Hawke stands slowly, her presence ignored by the throngs of people pushing past and over her. 

She catches Fenris’ gaze and the sheer horror in her heart at the news she has just been given is reflected back at her in the deep green of his eyes. 

Their houses would be joined.


End file.
